Thranduil's Ark
by Wynja2007
Summary: Summary: At the height of the War of the Ring, as dark forces close in around the realm of Mirkwood, the Elvenking is summoned into the forest... Rated G/ K for all ages


'Go on. Off you go. He won't bite, you know; but you must hurry!'

The sparrow fluttered and chirruped nervously before the hand on which it was perched lifted up in a swift motion to launch it into the sky. Away it flew to do its friend's bidding, through the dark and twisted trunks of the trees of Mirkwood, heading towards the palace caverns.

With a sigh, Radagast saw the little bird go and turned his attention back to the unhappy sight before him; one of the rare white does, slain by a black orc arrow, and shivering against her cold body, the tiniest fawn he had ever seen. Born too soon, perhaps, and certainly born into danger and hopelessness, unless the message got through.

The wizard shuddered. The forest had become increasingly dark of late, and Thranduil's people pushed and stretched as they struggled to meet threat after threat, clashing with bands of orcs, clearing out new spider infestations... not to mention the pleas for aid from the human settlements...

What were the chances help would come, when there were so many in need elsewhere? How important was the life of one little orphaned fawn compared to the great battles raging outside?

Radagast sighed again and sat down beside the fawn and its dead mother. He shed his cloak with difficulty and draped it over both infant and dam, as if it mattered.

To him, it did.

'So, my lord king, we have had more requests for help... everywhere there are calls on us to provide troops, food, succour...'

Thranduil inclined his head for the advisor to continue. Badhron was not one of his most experienced officials, but his two senior advisors had key meetings elsewhere. As a result, he was left with a capable, but tedious fellow who was doing his best... Thranduil hoped his impatience was not showing but if this meeting did not end soon...

'...most urgently, though,' Badhron went on, 'the Red Dragon Company report large bands of orcs heading up from the old road towards their positions... they are stalwart in insisting they need no reinforcements, but it is a key position and... what's that? There is one of those dratted birds in here again...!'

Thranduil stirred, at once spotting the darting flutter of small wings. His eyes followed its intermittent progress across the vastness of the Hall of Audience.

'...which reminds me, sire, do we really need to support this ridiculous sanctuary in the Sacred Grove? It is, in my opinion, a waste of valuable resources and makes one of the Silvan's most revered places seem like a tinker's camp site...'

'Badhron, you came highly recommended but as yet you have no real experience of managing a realm such as this; you have no empathic understanding of the importance of every life in the kingdom. Be they Silvan, Sindarin, tree or wild creature, they are all in my care.' The king rose, gathering his robes about him. 'Moreover, the bird is a message for me, and not you.'

'But... my lord king...'

'Inform Commander Govon I want half his archers sent to support the Red Dragons fighters. I will speak with him later. Thank you, that is all.'

Badhron stared after the king.

'But, sire... where are you going?'

Thranduil lifted a hand and the small bird fluttered towards him, perching on his shoulder.

'Perhaps to waste more of my valuable resources,' he said. 'Who knows?'

Radagast shivered as he waited. It was a couple of hours past noon, outside, somewhere above the canopy, but within the forest gloom a crepuscular darkness dampened the daylight. The place had not always been like this, oh no, far from it... he remembered his home on the south-western edges of the forest, a sweet little haven in brighter days, a refuge in darker... but this latest onslaught had been so dark, so evil that he had fled, bringing his personal animals with him, and begged shelter of King Thranduil.

He knew the king's decision to allow him to set up home in the Sacred Grove of the Royal Fëa Trees had not gone down well with everyone. But he was doing what he could, in his own way, to repay Thranduil's generosity by keeping safe such of the wild creatures as needed shelter and help.

This little fawn, for example...

Radagast shook his head. No, she was beyond such aid as he could give. All he could do was sit with her and hope real help arrived soon.

Something tickled his head, and he realised the female sparrow was stirring in the nest she had made in his hair. A chirp and a rustle of feathers, and she was out, working her wings in front of his face for a moment before lifting away, and Radagast glanced up to see her disappear into the dark. She would be going to seek her mate and, as the wizard knew her for a stay-at-home sort of a bird, guessed his little messenger had done his duty and was now close at hand.

Sure enough, within moments the two birds were back, and a stir in the woods proclaimed another arrival.

'Thranduil, is that you? We're over here!'

The undergrowth parted and the Elvenking pushed through, his face stern and anxious.

'You will understand I am not fluent in sparrow; what have you, Radagast?'

The wizard pulled back a corner of the cloak and Thranduil dropped to his knees beside the white dead doe with a soft cry. Even as he shook his head in sorrow, he saw the fawn and reached out to lift it, cradling its tiny body in his hands to bring it close against his chest. It shivered once, but then its head lolled back and it was still.

'How long?' the king asked, his voice frosted with daggers of ice.

'I found them less than an hour ago; the... the dam was still cooling. I sent at once...'

'You did. Thank you.' Thranduil rose to his feet, still cradling the unconscious fawn against his body. 'And it lives, but barely. Come. We must return to the grove.'

The king lifted his head as what may have been a bird call dropped through the trees.

'Ah. I have been followed; no doubt Badhron sent word that I had left our meeting. Well, they must hurry if they wish to catch up. Are any of your creatures lactating at present, Radagast?'

'That's rather a personal question, isn't it, Thranduil?'

'This little one needs milk, swiftly.'

'The answer's no anyway, I'm afraid; all my current sledge rabbits are bucks.'

'No matter; I will send one of the guards when finally they catch up with us.'

Thranduil hastened his steps. The Sacred Grove was near, now, and once he had the fawn within its protective circle he would feel easier.

Soon he was bowing towards the hollies that guarded its entrance; even the Elvening showed respect here.

Inside the protective circle of the grove the light was greener, the air calm and sedate, thick with the power of the ancient trees and Thranduil felt one of the many layers of anxiety peel away as his fëa responded to the atmosphere. He skirted Radagast's untidy conglomeration of camping gear to where a large willow dripped its silvered green shoots downwards. Settling himself amongst its roots, he placed his back to the trunk and exhaled in what might have been relief, leaned his head against the bark, closing his eyes for a moment.

This was his tree, the one out of all the others in the forest that represented his spirit, his fëa, and through it he could access his connection to the woodland realm, to the life of its trees. At times like this he could draw on its ancient strength, bracing his resolve to endure.

But he was so very tired. All the fighting, all the deaths, all the destruction were wearing him down, he was worried for his son and he had a sick and probably dying fawn in his arms and his heart was breaking.

He attempted to set aside his despondency and instead concentrated on the link between himself and the willow, and beyond the tree to the wider woodland, finding the life-force of the forest flowing and slurring in the stir of tree and undergrowth... his forest was sick, yes, but there was a green spark there, still spring was striking against the shield of evil, and he focussed now on this brightness, this hope, drew from it, gathered all its energy and bundled that up with his love for the forest and all its wild things before he allowed it to flow out of himself, passing into the failing fawn to bolster and strengthen it.

Presently he became aware they were not alone in the grove.

'Approach,' he said, not bothering to open his eyes. 'Report.'

'My king, it is I, Fonor. Others are standing watch outside the grove. Advisor Badhron sent word you had left in haste and that he would not be responsible if harm befell...'

'Yes. Thank you, Captain, I feel much safer knowing Badhron is worried for my safety.'

Fonor's face twisted into a wry grin which must have carried over into his voice, for the king's mouth twitched into an almost-smile as the guard spoke.

'Indeed, the advisor means well but does not realise that, of all the dangerous creatures at loose in the forest, sire, your royal self is the most deadly...'

'And so he will learn if he does not cease his officiousness. Send at once to the palace, we need milk, and plenty of it, blankets, a small campaign tent... food...' Thranduil opened his eyes to rest his gaze on the captain. 'And, Fonor?'

'My king?'

'I really am grateful for your watchfulness; it is Badhron's fussing I protest, not the work of my guards.'

'Understood, sire.'

Fonor bowed and retreated. Presently, Thranduil heard his orders repeated, the two guards sent off, Fonor remaining on watch. It was not far to the palace from the Sacred Grove, and while he waited he sat himself a little more upright, laying the fawn across his lap and beginning a gentle examination.

'How's it looking?' Radagast asked, looking up from where he'd been tending to his sledge rabbits.

'The little one is weak, as you would imagine. Dehydrated and chilled.' Thranduil passed his elegant hands over the small form, smoothing the creature's coat. The fawn stirred, its sides heaving in a deep breath, but its attempt to lift its head faltered. 'A doe. Sorrowing and heartsick; she is too young to understand she is an orphan, but she knows intuitively this is not how it is meant to be. I have done what I can.'

'It's getting to be quite a menagerie,' Radagast said, leaving his rabbits and approaching to sit near Thranduil's feet. 'You know, there is an old tale of a land far away and long ago… or long ahead, who can say…? A tale of a Man who was warned of a great flood. He was told to build a boat and gather the animals to save them. He called it an ark. That's what we've got here, I think.'

Thranduil looked down at the little fawn sprawled across his thighs as it tried to gather in its attenuated limbs to preserve its warmth. He gently helped, his hands a living blanket.

'An ark. Yet there are so few creatures here...'

'Badgers are digging a makeshift set near the brambles. There's two foxes, mother and daughter taken up residence. The older vixen's pregnant; they go to ground behind the nettles, there... A few wild rabbits have come in to chum up with my team... I've had Words with everyone so they understand nobody is anybody else's dinner... Your kitchens are being very good about scraps, and things...'

'I'm pleased to hear it.' Thranduil sighed. 'Sometimes, I fear for the wild creatures, so much... It is all very well for Legolas to go off saving the world, but what if I cannot save the forest? What if there is no home for him to return to? My Greenwood the Great, it is sick, Radagast, it has been Mirkwood for far too long, and...'

'Do you remember when you were younger? Before you had to move the court north? When you lived around Amon Lanc, nearer to me, and you were forever bringing me the little injured creatures you found?'

'Indeed. It was a source of mystery to my mother where I found them all.'

'And you never once guessed the truth; they found you. Yes, you brought them to me, and I doctored and dosed them where I could, but it was you nurtured them. You cared, and without that, none of my potions or incantations would have worked half as well. You, it was your connection to the forest that brought them... Your father never had it, he was too old before he came to the Greenwood. Your mother glimpsed it... but it's only in your fëa, Thranduil, that the forest spirit could live. Like it does here.'

Radagast paused to look at the trees in the grove.

'Your forest may be sick, dear old king, but this place, the heart of it, is still clean, and wholesome. And so is your heart. Despair tries to find you, how could it not? But you fight it, the spirit of the Greenwood strengthens you, and the love of its King strengthens its heart, in turn. So your Sacred Grove will resist, and you will resist, and enough of the forest creatures will survive.'

'I hope those guards are back with the milk soon, otherwise this poor little fawn will not.'

'How long is it, may I ask, since you slept?'

Thranduil thought for a moment… two nights ago, before dawn, out to read the tale of an attempted orc ambush… meetings through the day, the night spent going from one outpost to another to bolster resolve… no time to rest, food snatched in passing, eaten while writing directives…

'Who knows? I am an elf, I do not need sleep. I can find strength simply from reverie, from allowing my mind to rest in wakeful dreams…'

'All right… how long since reverie?'

Thranduil sighed and allowed his eyes to lift to the canopy.

'Too long, perhaps. But while there are so many demands on my time…'

'True. But right at this moment, king, there's nothing else you can do except cuddle the baby, there, and sit quiet. Why not see if you can get a few moment's rest? Your guard is outside the grove, should anything happen…'

Thranduil exhaled heavily and his hand dropped to his side.

Radagast ceased his arguments with a smile as he saw the nictitating membranes slide across the king's eyes to protect him while he walked in reverie.

Voices drew Thranduil back, not addressed to himself but conversing somewhere beyond him. He became aware of hard tree bark at his back and a soft, warm patch on his lap and he drew breath sharply.

The fawn… he should not have allowed himself to drift; the little one needed him and…

'It's all right, Thranduil,' Radagast's voice stopped being sharp and annoyed, and instead softened and soothed. 'You've only been resting a short while; not long enough for the milk to heat.'

'What is going on?' Thranduil asked, trying to sit up without disturbing the fawn. 'Were you scolding someone?'

'Yes. Possibly unfairly.' Radagast cocked his head towards one of the guards who wore a frustrated expression. 'Possibly not. The fellow brought all you asked, but now I learn that the nanny whose milk this is has lost her kid… I just wondered why he didn't bring the whole goat?'

'Perhaps because he is a well-trained and competent warrior who follows orders,' Thranduil said. 'He was informed we needed the milk as soon as possible. Arranging for transportation of a goat would undoubtedly have added to the delay.'

'Well…' Radagast grumbled, subsiding, and turned his attention to a small pot suspended over his cooking fire. 'Milk's almost ready.'

'Good. Calithilon, approach.'

The guard bowed his head and halted near his king.

'Thank you for bringing the milk and other items. It is for this small creature that I had you chasing back to the palace in such haste; it is an orphan now, born of one of the last white does.'

'Ai, that is a pity. Such a small creature, I am sure it would fit in the palm of my hand! Yet I have heard tales all my life of how the white deer are the heart of the forest; if they thrive, our Greenwood thrives, and we with it. But this little one is not white.'

'Sometimes the true colour does not come out until later; the dappling which helps hide the creature in its first few months often fades.'

'Well, my king, I will hope my efforts not in vain.'

'Good, for I have another task for you; pass word if I am needed to seek me here, in the grove. This is not negotiable. Then arrange for the goat to be brought.'

'Yes, my king.'

'You need not return yourself, as long as somebody fetches the goat. Thank you. You may go.'

Once Calithilon had left, Radagast looked up from his fire.

'And the milk's ready. The fawn would naturally lift its head to suckle, so we will have to find a way...'

Thranduil gave a small and private smile and reached inside his travelling cloak to rip off a strip of the thick, absorbent fabric. Careful not to disturb the fawn just yet, he wrapped the fabric around his first and second fingers, binding them together.

'Very good,' Radagast said, bringing the warmed milk.

'Legolas' mother was an elk-tamer. I have helped hand-rear a fawn before.'

Thranduil dipped his bound fingers into the milk so that the fabric soaked up some of the milk. Holding his fingers above the fawn's nose, he let it get the scent… weak, so very weak, it was a moment before the creature stirred , but suddenly its eyes opened and it nuzzled towards the milky fabric. Taking the wet material - and Thranduil's fingers - into its mouth, it began to suck.

'Always a special blessing, to be accepted as a surrogate by one of these wild little ones,' Thranduil said. 'I hate the necessity, but one cannot help but feel honoured by its trust.'

The milk gone from his fingers, he extricated them, dipped the fabric in the bowl once more, and gave to the fawn.

'Of course, it's going to take ages,' Radagast observed.

'Indeed; it takes as long as it takes. Soon she will learn she can drink from the basin, but for the moment, contact with a living creature while she suckles is a comfort for her.'

Thranduil fell silent, concentrating his energies on the feeding the fawn, replenishing the milk on his fingers for her until the urgency of her hunger had eased off. He set the bowl aside and unwound the wet fabric strips from his fingers, settling the fawn against him and stroking her gently.

Presently, he looked up, hearing something.

'What?' Radagast asked.

'Someone approaches. Several persons, I think.'

Sure enough, a moment later, and Commander Govon was bowing at the entrance to the grove; battle conditions or not, the Sacred Grove deserved respect.

He entered with two guards and all bowed to their king. If Govon was surprised to see his liege-lord stroking a tiny, shivering fawn, he hid it well.

'My king, there is an urgent report for you to read, if you have a moment. And we have brought blankets, food and a campaign pavilion for you; may I have the guards install it?'

'If it pleases you, Govon… Let me see this report, then?'

Thranduil pushed himself more upright against the tree, crossing his long legs and folding the fawn into his robes so that she was held against his chest. Govon stared, and Thranduil winged an eyebrow.

'An orphan Radagast found in the forest. I am hoping my heartbeat will soothe her.'

He held out an imperious hand for the report and read through swiftly, nodding and commenting occasionally.

'These are matters I was discussing with Badhron when I was called away… We need to send supplies and reinforcements to the outposts…. We will undoubtedly be attacked to the north east, but the presence of the dwarves and the people of Dale and Esgaroth will dilute some of the impact...'

He looked up.

'You had my order from Badhron? Concerning your archers?'

'Yes, my king; half my command south to support the Red Dragon Company; they will leave within the hour. And the over-captain asked me to stress to you his concerns for your personal safety. He wishes to be kept constantly informed as to your whereabouts at all times…'

'Of course he does. It will be a waste of resources, however, to try to keep track of me; I must go where I am needed… and according to your report, I am needed everywhere…'

'Pretty much, sire, yes.'

'Gather such of the former Court Guard as you may to be my personal bodyguard; that should allay the over-captain's fears a little… Thiriston and Canadian, they are here, still?'

'Yes, sire, but you will recall that Canadion left the guard some time ago… he works with the elflings now...'

'I know, but ask him if he will serve his king again. Triwathon is still stationed at the palace?'

'Yes, my lord king.'

'Good. Tinuon, Hador, they can be spared from their companies...?'

'I believe so. As can I, my king, I have an able second, Fonor, who…'

'No, Govon, I have something more important for you.'

'Sire, what could be more important than protecting your person?'

'Protecting the Sacred Grove. No, hear me; the forest is infected by the miasma of Mordor, the parasites of its orcs and wargs and worse. But while this grove is free of the taint, there is a chance we can regenerate the forest, once the war is won. And if it be lost, at the last, at least we will have kept its fëa pure.'

'Sire...'

'You must protect Radagast and his creatures, too. His skills will aid you while he keeps the refugees of the forest under his care. You and those of your archers not sent south are to defend this place.'

'As my king commands.'

'Indeed,' Thranduil wait with a swift twist of his lips. 'You may return to the palace. Tell my advisors the end of day meeting will be held here...'

'They must come here, my lord?'

'Govon, you are not usually given to questioning me and so I will not quite bark at you. But my patience has its limits. I have been making my way from one outpost to another along the line of the river and this is the first time in days that I have been still for more than a few minutes...' Thranduil broke off with a sigh. 'Feel free to warn everyone I am in a foul temper; I am not, yet, but it should make for a shorter meeting.'

Govon hid a grin.

'Of course, sire. The guards will remain with you once your campaign tent is operational, and arrange all as you have ordered.'

'Thranduil, thank you,' Radagast said once the commander had left. 'Not just for telling your chaps to protect the grove and the animals, but for taking me in when things got nasty... I miss my home, of course, but you understand that.'

In the king's arms, the fawn stirred, pushed her delicate head out from the folds of fabric. The king stroked her gently, looking into the bright eyes.

'She is awake,' he said needlessly. 'I think she will survive, but so bad a start to her life as she has had, born too soon by a week at least...'

'You're probably the expert,' Radagast said, coming over. 'But let me see her. Can she stand yet?'

The fawn struggled to get to her feet, Thranduil supporting her body while her legs trembled and wobbled. Radagast looked at her eyes, her nose, stroked the silken neck.

'Very young, of course... she'll need feeds through the night, I think.'

'We would give every hour, when we were nursing orphans,' Thranduil said.

'It's going to be a long night, then.'

The meeting convened an hour or so later after the fawn's next feed, Thranduil's advisors and commanders and officials all making their way to the Sacred Grove.

'My lord king?' The over-captain approached and bowed as Thranduil beckoned him to speak. 'Sire, there is urgent need to the west; if the woodsmen cannot hold strong, then we will be all-but surrounded… the only chance we have of help will be from Lothlórien and they will have their own troubles… we need to send at least two companies out at once…'

'Very well. We must, of course, protect the people in the Great Cave complex adequately, and look to all our weak points; troops of orcs are ranging through the forest, and we must not be caught off guard. Such healers as are willing should go out with the warriors. I cannot stress enough that Commander Govon and his archers are not to be deployed elsewhere; this is the heart of the forest and keeping it, and the creatures here safe, is vital… particularly as orcs have been active less than an hour's march from the palace…' he gestured to the fawn on his lap. 'This little one's mother was found orc-shot in the valley of the silver ferns.'

'Understood, my king,' Govon spoke from the shadows. 'My warriors are already in position outside the boundaries. The Grove will not fall while we remain. You will be glad to learn Grey Company encountered an orc troop not far from Silver Fern Valley yesterday and none were left alive.'

'My thanks, Govon; I know I can rely on you. Commend the troop.'

'Sire.'

Arveldir stepped forward.

'Is there anything else my king needs?'

'Yes; ensure all the palace knows that whatever Radagast requires must be supplied. And we were in expectation of a goat.'

'A… goat, sire?' Arveldir echoed.

'Ah, I think I know about the goat…' Badhron raised a hand. 'That fellow Calithilon requested it, but it seemed so unlikely… thinking you had requested a coat, someone will be along with clothing…'

'Do not ever attempt to reinterpret any of my orders again,' Thranduil began slowly and clearly with a voice that sounded like a blizzard on a bleak night. 'The nanny goat from which the milk was taken earlier – that goat. The one who had lost her kid. Bring it. Now.' Thranduil took a breath, his voice deep and dark and dangerous. 'In person, Badhron, or you will not be living in a nice, safe palace but instead find yourself on a mission to Imladris… now, hasten…'

He waited for Badhron to back out of the grove and disappear off towards the palace.

'If one of you would make sure he does not fall over his feet or somehow manage to bring a billy goat instead, I would be grateful,' Thranduil said, his voice reverting to its usual cool tones. 'I think that is all. I will not be returning to the palace so seek me here if you need me. Radagast, it is almost time again.'

'I'll get the milk heating.'

By the time two grinning guards arrived with the nanny goat, the daylight was fading and the fawn had been fed a further twice.

'Just in time, chaps,' Radagast said, taking charge of the nanny. 'We were almost out of milk. Hello, my dear thing, what's your name…?'

'We brought you some supplies also, sire,' one of the guards said.

'Just about managed to keep the food away from the goat, my king…' the other added.

'Tinuon, Hador… that does not seem to be all you have with you?'

'No, indeed,' Tinuon said. 'We have a pair of bivouac tents – it's an honour to be part of your personal guard again, sire, we're on guard until Triwathon and Fonor will take over the watch at midnight, and Thiriston and Canadion will take the duty at daybreak.'

'I see you have it all sorted out amongst yourselves; most efficient.'

'Commander Govon, sire, he suggested including Fonor, and Captain Triwathon as Acting Commander, if that suits?'

'Very much so.' Thranduil nodded. 'I suppose I will need my weapons bringing, and my armour. Well, it will keep until tomorrow. See to your shelters, then, and my thanks.'

'I say, Thranduil,' Radagast began conversationally across the goat's back as he prepared to start milking. 'It will be a lot easier now; no need to heat the milk on the fire, I can get it to you still warm from Arwen here…'

'Arwen?' Thranduil queried. 'Radagast, you cannot name a goat after the Evenstar of Imladris!'

'I didn't,' Radagast said, in time to the squirting of milk into the bowl. 'I just asked the nanny what her name was and that's what she told me… Oh, and by the way, I think I can convince her to adopt the little one there… '

But not yet. Thranduil shook his head as he took charge of the bowl and wrapped his fingers in the strip of fabric once more. He was not ready to relinquish this duty quite yet.

The fawn sucked at his fingers, eager now, and Thranduil found himself dipping into the bowl more and more frequently, the little one beginning to respond to the power of the grove and the love of the king for his forest creatures. Her head bumped against him, her sharp little feet braced against him as she tried to follow the almost dry fabric down into the bowl.

'That's looking promising,' Radagast said.

'Indeed,' Thranduil replied, restraining the fawn with one hand while soaking up more milk with the other. 'It was lucky you found her when you did.'

'It's about the only good thing that's happened lately. And it wasn't so lucky for the doe, was it?'

'True. It worries me, also, that orcs were able to penetrate so far into our defences; I will give the matter some thought overnight.'

'You would do better to sleep, my friend.' Radagast busied himself for a moment, his back to the king, before presenting him with a goblet of red wine. 'The guards brought a bottle of Dorwinion for you. Have some; it will relax you.'

'I do not have time to relax,' Thranduil took the wine and drank deep anyway. 'We are hard pressed, Radagast; it will do me no good to sleep if I cannot keep my realm safe… orcs so close, requests for aid on all sides, how can we defend…?'

The king's voice trailed off and Radagast darted forward to retrieve the goblet before it fell from Thranduil's insensate hand.

'Oh, did I forget to mention the sleeping herbs I added? How silly of me! Memory's not what it used to be, dear old king.'

Thranduil came out of reverie, woken by a loud bleating.

'Why is there a goat in my bedroom?' he wondered aloud even as he remembered he was in a campaign pavilion rather than his palace chambers.

'Because there is a fawn in your bed, Thranduil,' Radagast told him. 'And Arwen wants to feed it.'

This random explanation seemed to make sense to Radagast, so Thranduil drew in his scattered energies and focused his awareness. He was lying on his side and a small, warm patch snuggled against his chest and partially covered by the fall of his hair was shifting slightly. He moved, and the fawn gave a soft sigh, shifting closer to him.

Thranduil smiled and stroked one finger over the fawn's head. It moved, surging upwards in a sudden conglomeration of attenuated limbs, moving as if it were on stilts as it struggled to find balance. Butting his chin with its small head, it wobbled a few steps towards the goat which helpfully approached, coming to a halt on the rug which had been spread on the floor of the pavilion.

'I think that counts as a success, don't you?' Radagast murmured as the fawn found its way to the goat's udder. 'Twice in the night that's happened, Arwen's come over and the fawn's gone to suckle. And both times she's gone back to cuddle up to you, Thranduil.'

It would have been more of a success if his pavilion were not currently full of the aroma of goat, Thranduil mused, but kept the thought to himself. He found the cares of state lifting as he saw the fawn's tail wriggle, saw how much stronger and sturdier she now was.

'This place is healing her.' Radagast looked at the king, held his gaze. 'You are healing her, and you'll heal the forest as well. It might take a little while, but start here, with this baby, and you find the heart of it.

'I doubt I have the strength to heal the whole forest...'

'But Thranduil, you are the forest. See this fawn? She's safe now; you brought her through the night and she will thrive, and that must give you the heart to carry on fighting to save the forest! I have faith in you.'

Radagast smiled as the fawn finished feeding and teetered across to bump her nose against Thranduil's hand, falling down into an untidy bundle of legs, leaning back against the king and looking up into his face.

'And she has faith in you, too,' Radagast added, taking charge of the goat. 'What more do you need?'

Thranduil looked up and a smile began to shape his mouth upwards.

'I need to take back my realm, Radagast. Fetch one of those guards, will you? I have new orders for the over-captain.'

'The time has come when we must do more than simply defend against the enemies invading our forest; we must gather ourselves to fight. Somewhere beyond the edge of the trees, my son is fighting to save the world; our task, then, is simpler; merely to save the forest.'

Thranduil was holding dignified court in the Sacred Grove, a woodland king in the heart of his realm. Eschewing the shelter of his campaign tent, his throne was a fallen tree trunk with a cloak thrown over it and he was attended by two guards, a scruffy, scrubby wizard and a selection of wild animals sitting warily apart from each other. Birds populated the trees and gave every appearance of paying attention, and in his arms slept a miniscule new-born fawn.

'But we cannot do that simply by hiding in our caves and responding defensively. Lives will be lost, and is there anything more grievous than sending our bright Silvans out to their deaths? But we will fight together for our forest home; no longer will I remain in hiding, underground. No longer will we merely react to these intrusions; we will attack.'

A stir went through the assembled advisors and company leaders and officials at this.

'I will ride south immediately with my personal guard. With us too will come Arveldir…'

Arveldir, Thranduil's most senior advisor looked up.

'My king, it will be an honour to ride with you.'

'You are an excellent shot, and it is vital that those with knowledge of running the kingdom not cluster and risk all falling together. We separate the wisdom of the realm. Parvon will go to the Northern Caves with the supply train and its company later tonight. Stand prepared to support the Men and Dwarves caught up in the fighting on the borders. Badhron, your task is to take over as advisor to the palace and keep its people safe; you will have a company of the regulars to support you. Leave disposition of warriors to the over-captain; you need not worry about anything except the palace area. Keep it safe for my return. Triwathon?'

'Sire?'

'Welcome to your new status as Acting Commander of my personal guard. I want my elk saddled and my armour and weapons brought. Bring your command to muster outside the grove by noon. I want whatever force can be spared from the protection of the palace there, too. Today we ride to battle.'

Thranduil laid a hand on the fawn's head, a benediction, lifted its muzzle.

'Be safe here, penneth,' he said. 'Let Radagast care for you. Grow strong and true, for you are the heart of my hope for the future.'

He passed the creature to Radagast and nodded to the wizard.

'Keep your creatures safe, Radagast.'

'And you take care. But they're not my creatures, they're yours. This is your ark, Thranduil. I'm just steering it for a little while.'

Govon was waiting outside the grove, holding the harness of the king's battle elk.

'Be well, my king.'

'And you, Commander. Keep safe my ark, will you?'

Outside the Sacred Grove, time passed, but within its boundaries Radagast was aware only of the growth of the fawn and its increasing strength and playfulness. Several times there was the sound of fighting, smoke on the breeze, and twice Govon and his archers came into the grove itself, moving amongst the trees with silent stealth and a warning to silence, but other than that, his days passed happily enough.

Then came a day – some three weeks or so after Thranduil rode away, not that Radagast was counting – when it felt as if the whole world jumped.

And somehow it felt as if a weight had lifted from the forest; the shadows beneath the trees directly outside the grove were green and not black any more.

Not much long after – days, a week, perhaps, Radagast wasn't sure – excited voices and Commander Govon calling out 'Radagast, he is back, our king is returned!' and sure enough, moments later Thranduil was bowing at the entrance to the grove.

Weeks of battle and hard riding were behind him as he approached the region of the palace complex. He had seen his elves injured and slain, had watched his forest burn. Weary beyond weariness, still the new lightness of the forest sustained him; its suffering was his, his exhaustion its. There was hope, now, for the restoration of the Greenwood (Eryn Lasgalen it would be from now on) but just at present he was unutterably tired and his heart heavy with loss.

Approaching the Sacred Grove, he was greeted by Commander Govon and his warriors. They had more scars than he remembered, but then, so did he, and they made obeisance to their king as he dismounted and bowed at the entrance.

As he entered, the first thing he saw was the fawn bleating and prancing across to greet him. Its coat had started to lighten, the tawny shades fading out to silvery white and it was beautiful, like looking at the transformation of the forest, like hope on dancing hooves.

The king lowered himself to his knees and the little one head-butted him in the chest, causing him to smile.

'So strong,' he whispered, his tiredness falling away. 'Radagast, thank you for keeping these creatures safe.'

'A pleasure,' the wizard said, noticing the marks of recent fighting on the king's person, around his eyes. 'They've been good as gold. But your creatures, remember? Thranduil's ark.'

'The war is won, it seems.' Thranduil looked up from scratching the fawn's still-small head. 'I have had word; my son survived. He will come home in due course.'

'Oh, that is good news. Met him once. Nice chap. So what's next?'

'Tell me, what happened? To that other ark in your story?'

'Hmmm? Oh, the waters subsided, the ark came to rest and the animals were all released to replenish the earth…'

'That, then, is what we shall do.' Thranduil stroked the fawn's head, rubbed behind its ears. 'After what we have come through, mellon-nin, it should not be too difficult.'


End file.
